


The Price of a Savior

by prittyspeshul



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Multi, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-10 23:35:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4412291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prittyspeshul/pseuds/prittyspeshul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"For a moment, she understood the weight of what they had laid on their child’s shoulders."</p><p>Snow's reflections on the choices that shaped Emma's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Price of a Savior

Feeding a baby at 6 AM had its benefits.

Or so Snow was trying to convince herself, staring into her mug of tea (no coffee for the nursing mama, no ma’am) and watching the sky lighten to the sort-of-almost predawn blue gray that passed for morning in Maine winters. She saw no point in fighting herself back to sleep when in an hour the rest of the (for once) blissfully sleeping household would awaken and begin their own morning routines. They would try to be quiet, but Henry was a teenager comprised of awkward long limbs he wasn’t sure how to manage yet (and she wondered, sometimes, if Emma was as gangly at his age and had to bite back one of the many waves of regret she’d resigned herself to flounder in since the day the wardrobe was commissioned), and she was a mother and therefore deep sleep no longer existed for her.  

She stood, preparing to haul herself back upstairs and maybe wake her husband up for some special alone time (she had insatiable needs under normal circumstances, and her hormones were at an all time high right now), before she caught sight of Emma on the couch. Graciously, she had given up the cot to their royal guest, a decision which Snow was more than positive she was regretting thoroughly (she and Charming had fallen asleep on that couch one night, and both had woken up with back pain so monstrous that it hinted at their real ages).

Her daughter was curled tightly into a ball, using the armrest of the couch as a makeshift pillow. Her blanket, however, had slid down until it covered only her legs. Snow’s mothering instinct was not to be denied. Especially now that she had Neal and reveled in his every gurgle, she was acutely aware of each piece of Emma’s childhood she had missed, and she was damned if she wasn’t going to at least give her elder baby some loving when she could.

She quietly approached the couch, reaching for the blanket to pull it up over her daughter’s shoulders. Emma didn’t move, her breathing steady with the deepness of an exhausted sleep; motherly instincts still screaming, Snow brushed some blonde strands out of her relaxed face and tucked them behind her ear. How many times had she seen her this unguarded? She knelt and pressed a kiss to her forehead, feeling the ache of all she had missed and the gratitude for what they had keenly. The sight of a familiar puff of white tucked into her daughter’s arms caught her breath in her throat, and she fell back a step or two.

There was no mistaking that baby blanket. Not after the hours she had spent watching Granny carefully stitch every fiber of her fear and worry and hope and cautious joy into it, every tear and silent prayer that she would see her baby girl swaddled in it safely, in her arms, not being snatched away by her armed husband, not being settled into the wardrobe never to be seen again.

Snow backed heavily into the counter, sliding to the ground and pressing her hand to her mouth to stifle the small outcry of pain and the following gasping sobs. She regained herself quickly, but her heart still beat too fast and too forcefully.

Emma kept it. Her baby girl had kept that blanket, that tiniest scrap of who her parents were and who she was meant to be, the life she was supposed to have.

Thoughts of the beautiful nursery, ruined by age and curse and disuse, fluttered unbidden to her head. That was what Regina had robbed them all of; no, it was what they had all stolen from themselves, through cruelty and misunderstanding. A happy, laughing little girl, pride of her mother, apple of her daddy’s eye, learning to talk, walk; playing in the cool shadows of the castle gardens and the deeper shadows of the woods; being taught how to ride a horse and against all tradition learning to use a bow and a sword, because both her parents knew and _why can’t I, too, mommy_ ; taking lessons in how to play with magic, how to experience and dwell in the power that ran through her veins by birthright; traveling the realms, enchanting all she met with her charm and wit and sparkling green eyes; dresses and gowns and dancing, even though Snow knew quite clearly that Emma wouldn’t have liked those lessons, and balls and princes and the lavish banquets. Seeing her baby girl grow up and watching her blossom into the incredible woman she had become, watching her take over the kingdom with a little bit of her trademark clumsiness and all of her tenacity, watching her fall in love and marry and have babies of her own…

She had missed it. All of it. She wasn’t there to soothe nightmares or broken hearts, wasn’t there to kiss away fevers or hold hands when she needed comfort, wasn’t there to braid her hair and enjoy her daughter in all her stages. While what they had now was unique and wonderful, and she could not have asked for a greater gift in this world, the enormity of what she had been absent for was starkly clear.  

For a moment, she understood the weight of what they had laid on their child’s shoulders. At the time, it had seemed so obvious, the only choice: save the child, save their kingdom, save the world. But looking at the living, breathing product of that decision, she felt something suspiciously like guilt for the life their world, her world, she herself had forced upon her daughter.

They had been cursed, yes, but they had cursed Emma more powerfully.

At least they all knew a life without a curse. For the Savior, the newborn baby savior who held the hopes of an entire realm on her tiny shoulders, that curse had both caused and shaped her whole life.   

Her eyes were damp, and she realized with a start that Emma was awake, blearily staring at her across the room.

“Mom? ‘s everything okay?”

And the word, still rusty in her mouth but she was trying, so hard, and the edge of concern underneath the sleepiness brought Snow to the brink, but she held it back, biting the inside of her lip to hold it together. “Nothing… just still getting over the pregnancy hormones, I guess.”

Emma nodded, apparently too half-awake to question more, although her eyes sharpened. Footsteps on the staircase brought both women to attention, the blonde straightening and stretching, the raven scrubbing her eyes with a hand and bringing herself to her feet. First came the tall, handsome king, royally noble in his white tee and mesh gym shorts, followed by the gangly, teenage apprentice, still clearly trying to keep his eyes open. A knock at the door surprised them all, and Henry was the first to move, darting over to open the door to a pirate bearing a box of assorted pastries.  

“Well, isn’t this a party,” Emma managed between yawns, and Henry grinned, the same grin his grandfather wore, darting over to his mother and flopping on the couch next to her. Her husband approached her and offered her a kiss on the forehead by way of greeting, glancing at her reddened eyes but saying nothing. He stayed close beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist and snagging her a cheese danish (one of the few perks of this world) as soon as the box was settled on the table, and she knew he would ask her later.

Snow stayed out of the general melee that ensued after Hook’s—Killian’s—arrival, nursing her now cold tea and nibbling her danish, watching the mismatched crew interact. She watched Henry talk enthusiastically to his mother, watched Emma ruffle his hair and tweak his nose and call him “kid” and steal bites of his croissant when he wasn’t looking. She heard her husband teasing his grandson, watched the way her husband and her daughter both took bites out of the left sides of their bagels first and held them in one finger and one thumb, sucking the (exorbitant amounts of) cream cheese off those fingers after each bite. Mostly, she watched the way Emma lit up like starlight around Killian, watched the way Killian looked at her as though she were the only person in the world, saw the way their eyes held whenever they looked at each other (Ruby was right, they were so far from subtle it was almost painful).

And with each passing moment, the hard knot of guilt and the waves of regret in her chest eased a little bit. It was still there, would always be, but seeing her daughter now, in the light of people who loved her, helped quell the ache.

Maybe she hadn’t held her daughter’s hand at her debutante ball, but she did get to see her off on a first date with Killian. Maybe she hadn’t been there when she was a pregnant teenager, but she watched her become a mother, slowly, even though Emma was positive she didn’t want it at first. And while maybe Emma hadn’t had the life she was born into, though it was painful to admit, maybe she had the life she was supposed to have.

 _And_ , Snow thought, relaxing against her husband’s chest and cramming the last big bite of her pastry into her mouth, _I’d hate to see where all the rest of us would be without her_.

**Author's Note:**

> Earlier version crossposted under the title "The Darkest Curse" on ff.net. 
> 
> I like writing Snow and I have a problem with parentheticals. Whoops.


End file.
